Valentine's Day
by Midasgirl
Summary: It is Valentine's Day, and although Christine has made plans with Raoul, something draws her back to the Opera. What ensues is pure E/C fluff for everyone's favourite couple :)


A/N - This is a story I started writing for Valentine's Day this year, but it - well, I was lazy, and it didn't get finished. So here it is now - pure E/C fluff, set on Valentine's Day :)

Love and hugs!!

Erik closed the piano and dropped the score onto the table beside the piano.

"Well done," he said quietly.

Christine blushed and looked shyly away. "Thank you," she murmured. 

He briskly shuffled a pile of papers into order and placed it on top of the piano. "You should be very proud of yourself," he told her. "You've done very well today." She smiled and his heart missed a beat in helpless adoration of her. 

He hesitated, drawing on his courage. He had promised himself ...

__

Ask her.

Steeling all his courage, he said lightly, "If you don't already have anything planned for this evening, I thought we might go out to dinner."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, Erik, I can't. I'm having dinner with ..." the expression in his eyes changed sharply. "... a friend," she amended lamely.

There was a long silence, then Erik turned abruptly away from her.

"Oh," he said shortly. 

Christine swore inwardly at herself for ruining the ambience of the lesson they had just completed. "But we could do it another time, perhaps?" she hazarded nervously, trying to catch a glimpse of his face to see how he was reacting to her.

"Perhaps," he agreed coldly. There was another brief moment of silence, before he looked back at her, his face impassive. "You had better go, you don't want to be late."

Christine reached forward helplessly. "Erik ..."

"You don't need me to show you the way out, do you, my dear," he cut her off abruptly. Christine stared hopelessly at him for a moment, his face rigid, then shook her head and turned to go.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she pulled her cloak off the hook and opened the door.

The sound of his study door closing behind him was the only reply she received.

Christine put a forkful of fish into her mouth, barely tasting it, Erik's voice, cold with hurt, echoing in her head. 

"Christine?" She was suddenly aware that Raoul had been telling her a story, and she flushed pink with shame at her inattention. He had been so sweet to her tonight; he had met her at the Opera with a dozen pink roses, and been the perfect gentleman all the way to the restaurant, helping her out of the carriage and lifting her up so that her skirts would not drag in the mud, and she had repaid his kindness by being absent-minded all evening.

"What's wrong?" She looked up to see Raoul looking anxiously down at her. "You haven't been here all evening. Are you unwell?"

"I don't feel ... very well, actually," she confessed. "I am sorry, Raoul, I've been a terrible companion for you tonight." 

He smiled fondly and shook his head. "It's all right. I think I should take you home if you're not feeling well; we can go out to dinner any time when you're well again."

Christine nodded, feeling tears fill her eyes at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she whispered. "On second thought ... could you take me back to the Opera? I can sleep in my dressing room, and it will save a long cold journey in the morning."

Raoul nodded, signalling to the waiter to bring the bill. "Anything you say, Christine."

Erik sat alone in one of the armchairs, staring into the empty grate, and thinking about her. _Of course she had made plans,_ his mind told him sneeringly. _You thought she would wish to spend the most romantic night of the year with you?_ He looked away, wearily acknowledging the truth of the words. It had been madness ever to think that she might come to care for him as a man.

Sheer madness ...

He sighed and rose, crossing the room to the piano, sitting down on the bench and shuffling the sheets on top for something he might play to distract his mind from her. Beyond caring what it was, he took the first sheet of music, and began to play almost absently, still unable to drive her image from his mind.

Christine slipped in through the door on the Rue Scribe and let down the hood of her cloak, pausing to take a deep breath. She bit her lip in nervous anticipation and carefully pushed open the door to the living room.

Erik was seated with his back to her at the piano, his head braced on his hands, the instrument silent. She swallowed as the realisation came that she might have hurt him more deeply than she had realised; this might be one misdemeanour that would take a lot of forgiving.

"Am I too late to take up the offer of dinner?" she whispered.

He started up from the piano, his face stiffening. He glanced at the clock and raised one eyebrow.

"A rather short dinner date, my dear?"

She laughed and brushed her hair back. "You could say that," she said with a self-deprecating smile.

Erik rose and gestured for her to sit. "What happened?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. "What went wrong?"

Christine realised with a shock that he thought the dinner had gone wrong, that she had only come to him for comfort.

"Nothing!" Seeing one eyebrow raised questioningly again, she blundered on. "I mean, it was lovely. The meal, the restaurant ..." He rose stiffly and poured himself a brandy, not looking at her, and she realised she had said the wrong thing again. "But ..." He glanced over at her and inclined his head, indicating that she should continue. She rose and came to stand beside him, feeling him tense as she laid one hand on his arm.

"But I decided I would rather be here." He turned his head away and she tugged on his sleeve, forcing him to look at her. "With you." 

A long moment of silence stretched out into infinity before he turned back to her and nodded briefly, his face no longer quite so rigid. She breathed a silent sigh of relief and felt her shoulders loosen; she hadn't realised quite how tense she had been.

"I'm afraid we've missed the reservation; but if you're hungry I'm sure there's something in the kitchen that might just metamorphose itself into a balanced meal."

Christine breathed silently in relief and shook her head. "I'm not hungry ... I had quite a bit to eat earlier." She laughed softly. "And if I eat any more than I am doing at the moment, I shan't fit into any of my costumes!"

He half-smiled at what she knew had been a very weak effort at a joke. "What would you like to do, then?" he asked.

Christine hesitated. Then an idea struck her. "I'd like to go up onto the roof and watch the sun set," she said suddenly. She saw Erik raise one eyebrow and flushed. "I mean, not if you don't want to ..."

He smiled again, a genuine smile this time, and shook his head. "No ... that seems reasonable." She clapped her hands gleefully and heard him laugh. "Go and wrap up warmly, it will be cold outside, and the air is not good for your voice." She made her way into her room, and happily donned her thickest blue cloak, gloves, and scarf, pausing to add a woolly hat that she hadn't worn for years. She hummed to herself as she dressed, happy that he had forgiven her.

When she made her way back out into the living room, Erik was seated in one of the armchairs, his hands steepled on his knee, wearing his thick black cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He rose as soon as he saw her, his eyes appraising her to make sure she was properly wrapped up. He smiled briefly, nodding his approval. "All right," he conceded. "But you must tell me if you feel yourself becoming cold."

She nodded, her eyes sparkling in excitement, and he smiled inwardly at her exuberance, guiding her carefully out of the lair and down the shore to the boat, his eye watchful of her step.

Christine stepped out onto the roof, feeling the cold evening air against her face and pausing to wrap her scarf tighter around her throat. Erik's voice came from behind her, concerned. 

"Are you cold?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm all right, honestly."

Erik looked her up and down for a moment, as if to gauge whether or not she was telling the truth, then nodded. "All right. Here ... sit down." He waited until she was seated before sitting a calculated eight inches away from her.

Above them, the sky was brilliant with radiance, flames of fire staining the sky red as the sun sank deepest amber below the Opera roof. In the distance, a church bell tolled the hour, the sound melodious against the splendid backdrop of the sun setting over Paris.

"Isn't it _beautiful?"_ Christine breathed, turning her face to Erik, flushed with the glory of the sky. Erik could only nod over a sudden lump in his throat, but Christine appeared to take his silence for wonder. 

"I know," she whispered, brushing his hand with hers. "Isn't it wonderful?"

They sat very still, Christine rapturously drinking in the radiance of the sinking sun, Erik barely seeming to breathe, acutely aware of how close she was to him, she having moved closer in unconscious ecstasy, until a small bird fluttered down onto the roof and hopped onto the head of a gargoyle next to Erik.

"Oh, _Erik!_" Christine whispered with breathless wonder. "_Look!_"

He smiled inwardly. "You like him?" he asked softly, turning what he ardently hoped was a nonchalantly half-interested gaze upon her.

She nodded fervently, her eyes still fixed breathlessly on the bird. Erik began to whistle, very softly, a softly melodic stream of sound. The bird glanced up and cocked his head with an innocent curiosity that made Erik want to laugh at its sudden resemblance to Christine. Very slowly, every long finger unfurling with languid grace, he reached out and laid his hand open, palm upwards, on the gargoyle's head, next to the bird. As Christine watched breathlessly, slowly, entranced by the soft sound of Erik's music, the bird hopped forwards two steps onto two of his long fingers, seeming undisturbed by the coldness of his skin. Very gently, Erik lifted the bird closer to him, caressing the brilliant red plumage with one gentle finger. Christine realised she was holding her breath as he slowly raised the bird to the level of her hand, their fingers brushing for an instant before the bird took a tentative step onto her fingers, and Erik instantly withdrew his.

Christine raised one cautious hand to stroke the bird, her fingers gentle on the softness of his breast. Erik watched her, his heart hammering so that he felt sure she must hear it, longing to reach out and touch her again.

A fat black crow landed on the roof and cawed, and Christine's bird took fright and flew off. Christine laughed and shook her finger at the crow. "Rotten bird," she said with a smile.

A gust of wind cut through Christine's thick cloak and made her shiver. She snuggled lower into her cloak, but it was no use; she was beginning to get cold. She turned to look at Erik, to find his eyes already on her. 

"Come on," he said with a smile. "It is getting cold for you up here."

Accepting the truth of his words, Christine nodded and rose, pulling her cloak close around her. She felt peaceful, and, for the first time in weeks, completely at ease with Erik. She smiled unconsciously; he had been so kind to her tonight. 

Erik watched her uncomfortably, unsure of what she might be thinking to make her smile so. Cautiously, he offered her his arm, and closed his eyes in silent triumph as she accepted it without hesitation.

Christine sat down in the boat, her smile still bright with excitement.

"Wasn't it beautiful?" she declared happily, tugging on his sleeve. He smiled slightly and nodded, unobtrusively moving his arm away from her hand. She was too excited to notice, exactly like a child after a special treat.

"And the bird!" She raised her hand, angling it as if she still held the bird. "It was so beautiful!"

"Calm yourself, Christine," he murmured, smiling slightly. 

She giggled and wrinkled her nose. "I don't think I shall ever be calm again!"

Much to his amazement, she jumped to her feet and flung her arms out wide. 

"Christine, sit _down_!" he ordered, smiling in spite of himself. 

She laughed and twirled around, her skirt fanning out around her. "And Madame Giry says my pirouettes aren't getting any better!" The boat was rocking dangerously now.

"_Christine!_" 

The boat capsized.

Christine came up, gasping, her skirts heavy around her, her hair a black mass, plastered down her back. She kicked out, but her clothes were heavy and she had always hated the cold of water too much to learn to swim properly. She went under again, the water black and icily cold around her, her hair fanning out in a cloud above her head. She kicked her way frantically to the surface, gasping in another lungful of air before she sank again.

And then she felt strong arms around her, dragging her to the surface, tilting her face out of the water. She gasped in air, clinging desperately to Erik as he held her, making small soothing noises against her hair as she buried her face in his chest. Then he gently shifted her weight in his arms and began to swim back to the shore, hampered by her heavy skirts billowing out in the water against him.

Christine realised they had reached solid ground, and she stumbled, clutching at Erik's shirtfront as a sudden weakness overcame her. He steadied her, one arm cautiously around her waist.

"Can you stand?"

She nodded breathlessly, raising one hand to push her sopping wet hair out of her face and beginning to giggle helplessly as she realised the ridiculous nature of the situation.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. 

"It's all right," he said gently, clearly slightly concerned that she was becoming hysterical. "You've had a shock. Are you sure you can walk?"

She nodded, still giggling. "Yes, honestly, I'm fine."

Erik pulled off his jacket and wrung it out with a wry smile. Christine burst out laughing again, and Erik smiled in spite of himself. 

"Come - you mustn't become chilled. Go inside and change."

Christine nodded, lifting her skirt in one hand. She held out her other hand to Erik, who looked at her for a moment as if she were offering him a rattlesnake, then cautiously took her hand and began to help her up the pebbly shore.

Erik changed quickly, hanging the ruined dress suit over the back of a chair to be dealt with later. He hurried out to the living room to build a fire; the room had been cold all day since he had not been expecting Christine, and he was now concerned that she might catch a chill. The cold night air up on the roof, added to the unexpected dip in the lake, were hardly calculated to keep her voice at its best. He cursed himself silently, castigating himself for not taking better care of her. 

"Erik."

He turned and saw her, and in a heartbeat of adoration that stole his breath and left his heart hammering, he rose and extended one hand to her, momentarily too overcome to retain his customary aloofness toward her.

She was so beautiful in the dim lighting of the room, her cheeks flushed with colour from her bath, her hair a mass of damp curls hanging loose down her back, a blue towel in one hand. She took his hand with a shy smile, accepting his guidance to the armchair nearest to the fire.

Erik released her hand and clenched it into a fist in embarrassment that he had allowed himself to be so adolescently affected by her presence. He took the other armchair, angling his face into the shadows, taking a moment to recover his composure.

"You're not intending to let your hair stay damp, are you, my dear? That wouldn't be at all sensible for your voice," he said, relieved at how level his voice came out.

She made a comic little face, wrinkling her nose. "But I hate drying my hair," she complained half heartedly, a smile flickering around her lips. "It just takes so _long_."

"Perhaps that will teach you not to take impromptu swimming lessons in the middle of February," he said wryly. She began to laugh and he smiled in spite of himself. 

"Come here," he said with a smile, throwing all caution to the winds. With an uncertain smile, she came and sat on the arm of his chair. He took her towel and began gently to rub her hair with it, careful not to tangle or pull any of the shining chestnut curls.

They sat in comfortable silence for a long time, Erik gently rubbing her hair with the towel until it was completely dry. He couldn't remember ever having felt like this in his life; this was what the books had meant by love. 

After what seemed hours, he realised that she was becoming pliant under his touch, and touched her shoulder hesitantly.

"Christine?" he whispered.

His only reply was a sleepy murmur, and he smiled, stroking her hair gently. "Come, my dear, wake up," he whispered. "It's time for bed."

Again she made a small sleepy sound of protest, and he laughed softly, sliding her into his arms to carry her to her room. She nuzzled against him, burying her face in his shirt, still half asleep, her hand fisting in the material of his jacket.

Erik sat down on the bed, and tried to ease Christine down onto the bed without waking her. She whimpered, turning more securely into his embrace, tightening one arm around him. He looked around the room, suddenly unsure; though he wanted nothing more than to sit there with her in his arms until dawn, committing each precious second to memory, he was sure that she would not welcome the intimacy when she finally woke. Gently, he untangled her hand from his jacket, and tried again to lay her down on the bed.

"No," she murmured, curling back up into his arms. "Stop it."

"Christine," he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. "Go to bed."

Reluctantly, she allowed him to slide her onto the bed and lay a blanket around her. He knelt beside her for one long moment, engraving her face on his memory, then rose and turned to go.

Her voice called him back. "Erik?"

He knelt beside her again, taking her hand as she reached out to him. "Yes, angel?" She smiled shyly, seeming much more awake. "Thank you for today."

Erik laughed softly and stroked a lock of hair away from her forehead. "Any time. Although next time perhaps you should try not to drown us both."

She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand in charming feigned embarrassment. As if she had suddenly made a decision, she leaned forward and kissed Erik on the cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day, Erik," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

Erik knelt very still for a long moment, momentarily caught out of composure. He rose, releasing her hand, and bent to kiss her on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Christine," he murmured, retreating out of the room, and closing the door behind him. "Sleep well."


End file.
